Chapter 3 - Salvaging the Pieces
The next hour passed in a blur of sharp words, flashing red-and-blue lights, and the heavy thud of closing cruiser doors. Claire didn't scream or fight back when the officers placed the cold steel cuffs around her wrists; the fight had completely drained out of her, replaced by a sullen, terrified shock as they read her rights and led her away.
When the taillights of the police vehicle finally vanished around the corner, a heavy, exhausted quiet settled over the house.
David walked slowly back up the driveway, his sleeves stained with coffee grounds and dirt, holding the last retrieved box close to his chest. He stopped in front of Liam, who was still standing rigidly by my side. Kneeling down until he was eye-level with his son, David set the box on the ground between them.
"Hey, buddy," David whispered, his voice cracking slightly. "I'm so sorry. Let's look inside."
Liam blinked, a tear tracing a clean path through the soot on his cheek. He slowly peered over the edge of the cardboard box. Out of the one hundred bunnies he had lovingly crafted, ninety-eight had survived the fall. Two were a bit worse for wear, stained with dark liquid, but they were home.
"They're dirty," Liam whispered, his bottom lip trembling.
"We can fix that," I said, stepping forward and kneeling beside my son and grandson. "We can wash every single one of them. We can give them a spa day, dry them in the warm sun, and make them softer than ever. Would you like that, Liam?"
Liam looked from me to his father, searching their faces for any sign of the dismissal he had grown so used to over the past two years. Finding only unconditional warmth and deep, abiding remorse, a small, fragile nod escaped him.
"Yeah," Liam breathed. "We have to fix them. The kids in the hospital are waiting."
That night, the living room looked less like a home and more like a triage unit for knitted animals. We filled three large basins with warm water and gentle lavender soap. David rolled up his sleeves, sitting cross-legged on the rug right beside Liam. For the first time since Elena's passing, the heavy cloud that had choked our household seemed to lift, replaced by the soft splashing of water and the quiet, rhythmic hum of a father and son working side by side.
As we gently squeezed the soapy water from a crooked-eared bunny with mismatched buttons for eyes, David looked across the basin at me. The dark circles under his eyes seemed deeper, but his expression was clearer than I had ever seen it.
"Mom," David said quietly, while Liam was absorbed in brushing out a piece of yarn with an old toothbrush. "I found more than just bank statements in that folder."
I paused, holding a damp blue bunny in my towel-wrapped hands. "What do you mean?"
"There are documents proving she didn't just empty Elena's savings," David said, his jaw tightening. "She systematically alienated everyone who tried to check on us. The letters you sent us last year? The ones that never arrived, where you asked if we needed help? They were intercepted. She threw them away, just like she threw these bunnies out today."
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My breath caught in my throat. All those months of thinking my son was pushing me away, of wondering why my phone calls went straight to voicemail—it had all been a web spun by the woman we had welcomed under our roof.
"We're going to fix this, Mom," David whispered fiercely, reaching across the soapy water to squeeze my hand. "All of it. Starting tomorrow."
